


Initiation

by Dream_In_Color



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fire, I'm Bad At Tagging, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Skov POV, Underage Drinking, characters staying unnamed/ambiguous, one of Kavinsky's parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 18:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_In_Color/pseuds/Dream_In_Color
Summary: He hands it to you, half a challenge and half initiation. Your breath catches at the way the fire reflects back from the lenses of his sunglasses. He’s got an arm around your shoulders now, pulling you in, and you think... there’s no going back.





	Initiation

**Author's Note:**

> I once again didn't actually name anyone in the work so hopefully it's not too confusing. 
> 
> I'm terrible at tagging so if you think there's anything that needs to be added just let me know! Constructive feedback is always welcome.

He hands it to you, half a challenge and half initiation. Your breath catches at the way the fire reflects back from the lenses of his sunglasses. You think for a split second that you’d like to snatch them off his face, remind him it’s the middle of the night, but you think maybe it’s better this way.

_Like this, he’s a god._

You throw it at the last second, arching up and away, the bright yellow-orange glow practically blinding against the pitch-dark sky, although that may have more to do with whatever drugs you’re on than the flames themselves. There’s the bottle shattering and the _whoosh_ of fire catching and everyone around you is cheering, hollering and he’s got an arm around your shoulders now, pulling you in, and you think _there’s no going back._

He pushes another drink into your hand and you don’t even look at it as you drain the plastic cup, toss it to the ground. You’re still staring at the fire and you can’t quite get your body to do what you want it to do but you register a split second late that there’s a body pressed against your other side now and you’re leaning back against the side of a car. You turn your head just slightly, as much as you can manage right now, and catch the too-pale eyes and choppy hair before they’re out of your line of vision and then it makes sense. You’re pretty sure they’re making out above your head but you don’t really care enough to double check.

It takes you way too long, you think, to disentangle yourselves from them. You think he says something to you, when his mouth isn’t occupied, but you can’t really hear him over the combination of bass and your own heartbeat in your ears. You know who you’re looking for but you’re not sure if he’s still here, if he’s already headed back to your shared room, or maybe somewhere else entirely. You really hope it isn’t that last one.

You think maybe you’re horny, except you can’t really feel much of anything right now, so you’re not sure if it’s real or if you think you are because you usually are when you’re sober, let alone wasted. The lights kind of _blur_ together and you can’t really quite tell who is who except by their voices and then you can only gather that it’s not who you’re looking for, nor is it either of the boys you left making out against a car what feels like _ages_ ago.

 _There were three_ , you think abstractly and then can’t figure out what your own brain meant by that until you’re staring into familiar, dark eyes. He doesn’t say much of anything, just raises an eyebrow and you grin back, laughing, and you’re so fuckin’ _trashed_.

He half-drags you over to his own car, and you practically collapse against it, pushing yourself up and sprawling on the hood and he rolls his eyes, says he’ll be back and you just lay there, the metal still warm from the day’s sun and the racing and you think maybe you pass out for a few seconds, but you’ve lost all sense of time at this point and you’ve also lost any amount of fucks you ever gave in the first place, which wasn’t many.

He returns eventually, pulling you up and shoving a water bottle at you and then there are extra hands, on your arm, on the back of your neck and he turns your head for you, eyebrows furrowed. He found you, even though you’d almost forgotten you’d been looking. He looks upset but not as pissed as you thought he’d be, so there’s that. You just grin up at him and you think for a second he might punch you. He sighs, overly dramatic, and hauls you to your feet, an arm over his shoulders and his arm under yours. He could carry you and you both know it, usually does when you’re this plastered, so the fact that he’s not is more his sign of annoyance with you than anything else he could’ve said or done.

The others have resurfaced as he steers you towards his car, dumps you in the passenger seat. A three headed being, like the dog that guards the underworld in the old Greek myths, and then you lose that train of thought when the music kicks into a beat you vaguely recognize but can’t quite place. He’s so close to breaking those shades and the face behind it, that sneer, and you can kind of hear the words, the door’s still open, but you can’t process and now your head feels like it’s on fire.

You manage to get out his name, you’re pretty sure, and then he’s there, and he’s still pissed but he’s closing the door and backing away from the field and the party. You give a small wave out the window with what little awareness you have left and you see him laugh, the other two smile, and then they’re gone.

 

You wake up in the morning with a worse hangover than usual but not as bad as you’d expected given what little you can remember. He’s still mad, when he hands you aspirin and water, but he’s not _pissed_ so you figure you’re safe. It’s Sunday, you think, although you’re not sure why that’s relevant other than you’re not skipping classes you don’t care about to nurse your headache.

 _We’re his now._ You hear yourself say at some point, when it’s been hours and he still hasn’t said a single word to you. He looks at you, something close to jealousy in his eyes, but you could just be projecting.

_We?_

You smirk at him, and something in his eyes shifts, changes. You want to kiss him.

_Told him we’re a package deal, man._


End file.
